Gods Playing Chess
by TheWhammy'sBoysAreACircus
Summary: Other people aren't like us. They cannot block emotion and they cannot focus on one emotion. They are mortal. We are above them. We are Gods, you and I. That man, also, but we are Gods. -one-shot, slash- -Drop a review? Circus


The game is chess. Obviously, you've never played. I can see it in your eyes as I set up the black and white pieces. You're staring blankly down at the objects my hands are setting up. It's amusing. Finally, I know something you do not. Finally, I can win. White makes the first move. I'll let you have at it then. It's fitting, that you're the white pieces. I do not sneer though I desperately want to. Finally, I can beat you at something!

* * *

I don't know what the fuck happened! All I know is now. I am awake. And you are there. Of course, he is also at my side but you're hovering over me like a fucking spaceship. And the way you look relieved could be the light that sucks me into the alien's world. You smile and lean out of my view, leaving my eyes to linger on the pale white ceiling I associate with your hair, your skin… Your clothing. My lip curls back; I can't help it. My last memory is of chess being set up and you making the first stupid move with a pawn. I don't want any more of you than I have to.

Slowly, I sit up. I can't lie still on my back any longer. I need to be up, even if that just refers to sitting. With effort, I manage to sit up comfortably. You are sitting apathetically; looking at me with a bored expression you give your puzzles. Across from you and on my other side, he is pressing buttons rapidly –expertly. And he doesn't look up. I'm not here to him. He's here because he assumes it is required of him.

Between the two of you, it is obvious who cares more.

* * *

You move a pawn first. You took your sweet time going about it, too, like it was a death row paper to be signed. Take a life or save a life. When you finally move the stupid pawn, I move a pawn of my own. You move your pawn. I'll give you a taste of my knight. So I move it. Your lips curl into a smirk. I realize, in that moment, you were playing me a fool. You know how to play chess. And I shouldn't have let you be white. But it is so _fitting_. Even if I had known, I would have given you white. You are white. Like an angel. An impure angel. Snow. On the outside, you are freshly fallen snow. Beautiful to the eye, smooth, unblemished, _perfection_. On the inside, you are trampled snow. Ugly to the eye, rough, marked, _imperfect_. I just lost my knight. Fuck.

* * *

According to the nurse, I have been in the hospital for a month. I was unconscious for two weeks and he has made me stay here for treatment the rest of the month. I don't know what I'm being treated for. Whenever I bring up the topic, he leaves for a smoke and you won't look at me. The nurse always avoids me when she has heard I questioned my reason for still being present in the hospital. Hell, I don't even know what brought me here in the first place. I've asked that too. He doesn't answer; his game is more important. And you only say one word.

Chess.

* * *

I have one rook, my queen, and my king left. You have everything except for a knight. I can't help thinking that this reflects the things we have in life. My rook, he can safely represent my rook. My king can be safely represented by that other man. And you just took my queen. My queen… You are (were, more or less) my queen. I can't help but wonder who your knight is. Your knight that you can't seem to have. And by chance, I check mate your king.

* * *

That man has finally shown up. His case load must be so intense that the moment I was hospitalized, he could not rush to my side. That man takes him and you into the hall along with my nurse and you all talk in hushed tones, the door to my room slightly cracked open so if I need you, I can holler. I can't hear what you all are talking about. It's annoying.

When the four of you reenter, I won't look at any of you. You seem especially saddened by this fact. He doesn't. He goes back to his game. That man just sighs and sits at the foot of my bed. The nurse gives me breakfast and he leaves without a word.

Words… It seems that in my presence, only you and the male nurse have spoken. I only speak to answer direct questions or ask about my circumstances. Only the answers to the questions seem to ever be heard. Except, of course, when you utter the one word that really annoys me. It annoys me because I can't seem to recall why it nags at the back of my mind, like a… Like a lost memory. Well, fuck.

"I have amnesia," I say. You can't deny it, that man can't deny it, and his gaming device falls to the ground.

"Yes, I am afraid so," that man says in his monotone voice. "What can you remember?"

I have to think. I have been getting random flashes the past two days.

* * *

"Fag," I say. You turn around, stopping on the bottom step in your attempt to climb up to your room. "I know you got the same vibes I did from our stupid chess game. Mind telling who ya knight and ya king are?" You look at me.

"I shall tell you if you tell me who your rook, queen, and king are." I hate the monotone in your voice. It doesn't tell me what I want to know. Other people aren't like us. They cannot block emotion and they cannot focus on one emotion. They are mortal. We are above them. We are Gods, you and I. That man, also, but we are Gods. "You must reveal the truth first before I."

I grind my teeth together and glare. Fuck. I would be able to say it if you went first. Fucking shit. I swallow. "I… Can't," I hiss and I leave you.

"You are my knight, Mihael," your voice calls out after me.

* * *

I… Shit. That man, he, and you are all looking at me expectantly, as if I am going to give you all the answers. I smirk, putting all of my hatred, anger, and annoyance into it. He cringes away, that man's eyes darken, but you stay apathetic and unfazed.

"We are gods," I whisper. "And I am a knight." That got you. You gasp and the rest of us look at you. I am amused but it is safe to assume the other two are curious.

"You cannot be a god and a knight, Mihael," you whisper. "Gods are immortal, but knights can die."

"Then what am I?"

* * *

"And L is my king."

I should be angry. So angry. Livid, even. But I am not. I cannot be. There is one reason, if any, that I cannot be angry with you. L is my king as well. It is my turn to speak. With a swallow that truly shouldn't have come from a person as wrathful as me, I tell you my chess pieces.

"Matt is the rook, L is the king, and were my queen to remain, you would have filled that space. Seeing as both you and I are lost from each other, it must mean something." There is a faltering pause where you should have agreed with me and you should add that we should never be in each others' company as more than rivals. But you falter and I know that you disagree. I disagree with the words spoken but I can do nothing more than say them. Some semblance of normalcy should remain.

"…Do you really believe so?" you whisper. And you have emotion. That snaps me on the inside.

"If I said it, I fucking believe it, fag," I snarl at you. You smile. Your smile is sad, though. It should never be said. Cocky, snarky, and mean, yes, sad, never. And yet you are smiling sadly at me.

"You don't believe it." It isn't a question out of your mouth. You've answered your own question.

* * *

My head hurts. My heart hurts. It hurts to remember what happened that day. It is a dull hammering that becomes more painful with each attempt at remembering. I grit my teeth in anger and curse whoever picked me to protect and watch over. I am not a God. I am not a knight. I am mortal. I am not a God.

* * *

You stare at me with an unreadable expression. And it scares me. I am used to reading you like a picture book!

"No," I answer, "I do not. But I am a God. I must set an example."

"You are not a God," you snarl. Wait. You snarled at me? I am a God. We both know this. "You. Are not. A God."

* * *

"I am…" I trailed off. If I am correct, you will say that I am not a God. If I am incorrect… You will say my name. L does.

"You are Mihael." He nods in agreement but my eyes are set on you. You who hold the answer.

"You are not a God, Mihael," you say. That is it. "You are mortal. You are human."

Something there snapped it all. Something there ends what little sanity I hold onto dearly. And I have learned. One valuable piece of information I have learned.

Snuggled here, content, in your arms, I have learned something.

There are no Gods. But there are mortals. No Gods would ever play a foolish game such as chess. But mortals would. And there will never be any Gods playing chess. We are not Gods, Near, we are mortals.


End file.
